


Fantaisie-Impromptu (Op. 66)

by zuzuzuuu



Category: UNINE (Band), 青春有你
Genre: 679 are roommates, Almost Piano Sex, Apparently that's a thing, Chunyang and Hanyu are BFFs, Excessive and uninformed references to classical music, Hidden (?) Identity, Just a little too cheesy, M/M, One-liner Jia Yi/He Changxi, Pianist Xia Hanyu, Spot the UNINE member, University AU, Very minor violence, 大虎队
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26816098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzuzuuu/pseuds/zuzuzuuu
Summary: Youwei takes the elevator up the university dorm building with one student, whose hands are full with piping warm breakfast. He seems intimidated by Si Shu standing beside him, so Youwei smiles reassuringly at him and lies, “My uncle. He’s helping me move in.” The student saysah, hello,a little more confident. Good enough. Youwei gets off on the fourth floor, Si Shu following behind him, until they reach the right door.“Wait here,” he tells him. No need to scare more students.It takes more knocking than he expected to get a response. “Coming!” someone yells from inside. The sound of slippers slapping the floor, coming closer. “He Changxi, if you forget your keys one more time I’ll -”“Hello,” Youwei greets pleasantly. "Remember me?"The irritated glare and messy bedhead of last night’s savior stare back at him. “You’re not Xixi,” he observes flatly, and slams the door closed again.“Who’s slamming the door!” He hears faintly someone from another room shout, and in response, his prickly savior’s, “Shut up!”How very interesting.-University AU. For Cloud9, Prompt #151.(Note: Majority is rated Teen, but Mature tag applies to (skippable) Chapter 2.)
Relationships: Chen Youwei/Xia Hanyu
Collections: Cloud 9 Fic Fest





	1. in C# minor

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #151:**  
>  A (dance student) accidentally saves B's life. the next day, B shows up at A's doorstep and announces that B is actually the heir to the local infamous gang, and since A saved B's life, B is now indebted to A and will be A's follower now and forever.
> 
> ([Fantaisie-Impromptu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvm2ZsRv3C8), Chopin.)

"Chen Youwei," Hanyu says. "Can you… Walk a bit further away from me?" 

The young man in full formal shirt and black suit trousers doesn’t even miss a step, only veering slightly toward the left. “Of course,” Chen Youwei says. Cheerily, even. His leather brown Oxfords click against the loose gravel on the uneven rocky road - they must be expensive, with the way they sound. Hanyu wouldn’t know. He glances at his pair of Vans that he’s been wearing for three years straight, then goes back to squinting against the sun in hopes the conservatory building will magically appear.

“Don’t your feet hurt,” he says. “With those shoes, I mean.”

“Oh, no, they’re very comfortable,” Chen Youwei reassures him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, though.” Hanyu accepts this compliment with a grunt, even if it wasn’t exactly what he was aiming for. He had been thinking more of, _Oh yes, now that you mention it, they do;_ and perhaps if he should be so lucky, _You know what, I should probably stop walking beside you; bad for my shoes._

Instead the awkward silence between them stretches, elastically making space for Chen Youwei’s tuneless hums, while he makes the ordinary road leading up to the university building look like a runway. Hanyu sighs.

“Look,” Hanyu says, coming to a stop. It’s close to noon. He’s going to be late, thanks to being unable to wake up on time. People are filtering through the cafeteria, passing quickly through paths, getting out of their previous class. Staring at the odd but really super handsome guy in formal wear. He pauses, then pulls Chen Youwei by the elbow to the side. “It’s, uh, nice of you to repay debts and all - though frankly there’s nothing you need to repay in the first place -”

“Most definitely not, I owe you my life,” Chen Youwei states matter-of-factly.

“- and I’m not - some kind of _gangster,_ no offence -”

“None taken,” said by Chen Youwei with a tilt of his head, smile on his oh-so-perfect lips.

“- so you don’t have to follow me around like you’re my underling or something,” Hanyu finishes, harried. He shuts his mouth and frowns at Chen Youwei, hoping his serious demeanour will finally get through to him. After all, he’s been told he looks pretty scary like that. Hopefully scary enough to someone claiming to be a mobster boss. Well, mobster boss-in-training, according to the man himself. It worked once, didn’t it?

“Sure,” Chen Youwei nods. Huh. That was easier than expected. Gratefully, Hanyu lifts his eyes to meet Chen Youwei’s. Until the pretty face speaks again, "I _am_ your follower, though. So see you outside here at 12.45?" Chen Youwei turns to his left, where a man in all black and an earpiece magically appears, handing a barely sweating cup of iced coffee to Chen Youwei, who holds it out to Hanyu with a beatific smile. He’s not weirdly touched by the gesture. He’s not attracted to this smile.

"...We'll talk after class," Hanyu scowls. 

He finishes the coffee 15 minutes into the lesson that he's late for. 

-

Who can blame him? Certainly not Hu Chunyang, who’s nodding so perfectly to the lecturer’s droning that Hanyu wonders if he really is listening properly, and not asleep after all. Until he sneaks a peek at Chunyang’s notes - and comes to the conclusion that this boy with the long fringe shouldn’t be sitting here for music theory class, but elsewhere teaching abstract art instead. Cubism or something, they’re called.

“Wake up, Picasso,” Hanyu hisses, kicking Chunyang in the shin. Jolted, Picass-yang’s hand adds a bold dash of blue ink straight across the page and onto the desk. Miraculously, the rest of his body doesn’t so much as twitch. 

“Hm? Oh, Hanyu,” Chunyang yawns. “‘M so sleepy… Wake me in 10…”

“You’re doodling ink blots on the desk,” Hanyu says, and pushes the vestiges of his iced Americano into Chunyang’s loose grasp. “Quick, I need your help.”

Thankfully, the word “help” must give more of a caffeine boost than whatever Chunyang’s sucking noisily through the green straw. “Wow, must be dire. What’s up?”

Hanyu surveys the half-dozing room, noting the distinct lack of doziness in their immediate area. Their conversation would be at risk of spreading to the whole school by the end of the day. Troublesome. “Tell you after this,” he decides. “But we run the minute this lesson ends.” Chunyang hums in acknowledgement. Though after a beat, his hand is dangerously close to continuing mimicking the movements of a spirit medium, rather than those of someone taking notes. 

Unlike him, Hanyu wants to excel in Foundations of Contemporary Music, so he consciously erases the image of “Aug. 5th aftjrhhhrhrrhgfzzfdjlsd” from his mind. From the state of what Chunyang dares to call “notes”, Chunyang’s help getting Chen Youwei off his back in exchange for all the notes he always lends him to copy? Totally a fair trade.

They high-tail it out of there the second their lecturer breathes the beginning syllable of, “See you next week,” - or more like Hanyu throws his notes haphazardly into his bag, drains the cup of any last drops, pats Chunyang’s face awake, and drags him bodily out of the room. Not necessarily in that order.

“Why are we running,” Chunyang laughs, sleepy. 

Hanyu squints at the group of students walking leisurely in front of them and judges them to be safe. “Some weirdo stalking me.”

“Stalking _you?_ Definitely a weirdo,” Chunyang says. “Uh, I mean… Tell me about it?”

-

Hanyu had been sure that this was quite possibly the last time he would open his eyes. As such, he kept them peeled - not that it was hard to, with how much adrenaline was pumping through him. Damn, he shouldn’t have stayed so late at night to practise. Shouldn’t have taken this route on his way back. Scratch that, shouldn't have believed Changxi when he said he knew a short-cut, so Hanyu would totally be back before curfew, no worries about getting directions over chat. 

What short-cut? More like a straight path to a living nightmare. No, focus. Chopin.

“Oi!” Good, his voice came out strong, he thought distantly, and somehow the two shady guys startled, looking back. The lamp post cast a harsh light, shading them an unreal orange in the cool darkness of the night. Etude, Opus 10.

“You know him?” One of them turned back to ask the stranger they had been cornering. Good-looking, well-dressed. Arms crossed, but otherwise nothing conveying fear of any sort; at most, Hanyu thought, a look of mild displeasure. The guy with his back to the wall slid his eyes to Hanyu, about to open his mouth to obviously deny knowing him -

“What’s it to you?” Hanyu countered. He stepped closer, fists clenched tight. Tighter, harder, they won’t know I’m scared. Shit, what was he doing? He’d never been in a fight. Number 12. Angry, I’m angry. “Hey. I said, back off.”

The two guys glanced between Hanyu and Rich-Boy, uncertain. Rich-Boy - clearly he must be rich, look at his watch - had the gall to look contemplative, of all things. No help coming from the very person he’s trying to save, then. Hanyu turned his full attention to the hopefully brainless thugs still hovering nearby. Glaring, he growled, “Scram, before I call -”

“The house to send a car,” Rich-Boy finally spoke up, voice never raised. As if he were having a nice conversation about the weather, which at that moment had been breezy, wind tousling his hair. “On top of the one already here to pick me up, of course.”

Okay? Hanyu had been about to say “the police”, but for whatever reason, this mad-lib caused the two to retreat, sullen. “Tch. Stick close to your nanny. We’ll be back.” Hanyu watched them as they spat on the ground, then slunk off round the corner, eyes never leaving their backs.

The second they were out of sight, he nearly crumpled like a pile of day-old shirts with relief. “Oh my god. What the hell -” 

“Which unit are you from?” Richie asked, still leaning back as if nothing had happened. “Quick thinking, though maybe a student cover is a bit too -”

“My god, if I broke my fingers Prof would have killed me - unit? Piano department,” Hanyu had the brain space to reply. He dragged in deep breaths. Shit, calm down, it’s over, _fu-_

“Oh,” Richie said. Out of nowhere, he squatted down, eyes on the same level as Hanyu, studied him. Wow. Okay. He’s handsome. Yup. Hanyu felt his breathing start to even out. “Oh, I see. Oh my. You’re quite brave, aren’t you?”

Brave? I was scared to death, Hanyu thought, but the trembling in his fingers was slowly fading. “Bastard,” Hanyu snarled. “Not even a word of thanks. ‘Course I am. Muggers in the middle of the night? No biggie.”

But just then, a car pulled up to the back alley’s opening, men jumping out from doors with blackened windows before the tires had even finished screeching. “Young master!” Richie only raised a hand, and they slowed to a jog as they neared.

“I’m safe,” he said calmly to them, “Thanks to you,” this part said smiling at Hanyu. The cold eyes, Hanyu thought absentmindedly, finally had a spark in them. Rich-Boy stood, holding out a hand to pull Hanyu up to his feet. Which he slapped away - then instantly regretted, with the way these men in black were glaring at him. Damn, he just stuck his foot in where he wasn’t needed, huh? These guys looked like one of them could finish off five of him in less time than it took to chant, “Revolutionary Etude”.

Fortunately, Richie Boy didn’t seem to mind. “What’s your name?”

“...Xia Hanyu,” he said, dusting off his pants. Rich only smiled. “Thank you, Xia Hanyu. Don’t use this path again. I’ll be in touch.” And with that he was swallowed by the black of the car, men nodding at him in thanks, before the whole team disappeared into a whirlwind of nothing, leaving him behind. 

Like a dream. Except when Hanyu checked his phone - “ _Shit,_ curfew!”

-

“...And then the guy showed up yesterday at our dorm, knocking on the door all normal as you please - you weren’t there, I think you were at your brother’s,” Hanyu says, finishing up the last rice grains. Chunyang nods to show he’s listening, munching quietly on his side-dishes. “And Xixi was at dance practice or something. Anyway. He said something about some Tiger gang? Next in line, or something? Yeah so that’s why I’ve suddenly got a stalker called Chen Youwei.” 

“Chen Youwei?” Chunyang asks. He looks surprised, lunch forgotten on the tray in front of him.

“Yeah, that’s what he called himself, why?” Story finally finished, Hanyu takes a rewarding bite of watermelon.

“Nothing,” Chunyang says, but looks thoughtful. “So that’s what he meant by stray dog…”

The watermelon is sweet. “You say something?” Hanyu asks. Chunyang shakes his head, fingers tapping speedily on his phone. Guess young geniuses have their quirks, Hanyu figures, swallowing down the cool juice. “Anyway, that’s why I’m on the run. Some rich kid targeting me for his entertainment... ‘Follower’? Guy’s got too much time on his hands. Must be smart, though, how he memorized my timetable from just one look. At least I didn’t smack his nose when I closed the door on him -”

“You closed the -?” Chunyang dissolves into laughter. “On Chen Youwei?”

“What? It was early in the morning,” he mutters, stealing Chunyang’s slice. “You have to help me, Hu Chunyang; are we bros or not?”

“Bros,” Chunyang agrees, and they fist bump, though the fact that he does it without looking up from whoever he’s texting intensely is a little worrying. “Maybe you could find an excuse not to see him? Like… Be busy with something?”

“Not a bad idea,” Hanyu says slowly. “I mean, I’m already always busy practising -”

“No, everyone knows about you practising, and there are only so many practice rooms with pianos. That’s easy to track down. Plus there’s nothing stopping him from walking in,” Chunyang dissects, finally putting down his phone. The gleam in his eye is a little scary. “Something he wouldn’t be able to join so easily.”

“...Nope, no idea,” Hanyu says. The amount of thought Chunyang is putting into this is way beyond what he could have come up with by himself. Definitely the right choice to ask him. “But well. I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know when you do,” Chunyang says, helping himself to the food once again. Hanyu gives a nod-shrug of agreement, before he sees from the corner of his eye one of those pesky bodyguards stepping foot into the cafeteria. “Oh shit, gotta go. Thanks, text you later!” 

-

Which is why, when Hanyu gets handed a flyer for a beginner dance class, he stops.

“Hm?” Chen Youwei says. They’ve stopped along the road to Hanyu’s next class, people flowing around them. What else can you do, when there’s two tall guys and one bulky rock standing in the middle of nowhere? The rock being Chen Youwei’s personal bodyguard of the day. “What’s this, dance?”

“Yes! Are you interested?” The person handing out the flyers asks enthusiastically. He’s small, kind of cute. Sparkly eyes. Somehow reminiscent of a koala. The Rock holds out a hand that blocks his view of the flyer, keeping a rowdy bunch of footballers from bumping straight into Hanyu. “We’re holding an open class for beginners, it’s really fun, and if you like K-pop we’re also -”

“That’s alright,” Chen Youwei says. “Trust me, you’d only have a hard time trying to teach this scarecrow body of mine.” Hanyu doesn’t even need to look to know he’s wearing a particularly polite smile on his face, the one that doesn’t reflect in his eyes properly. That’s not the main issue though. Hanyu is more interested in the flyer in his hands that reads, “Tight schedule? No problem! Classes at different timings and studios!” 

He looks back up at the poor dance club member who got the short end of the stick. He isn’t too let down by Chen Youwei’s outright rejection, warmth radiating from even the tone of his voice as he says, “That’s alright. Let me know if you change your mind!” Like a ray of sunshine, Koala-kid notices Hanyu looking, and turns the power of his beam on him.

Chen Youwei’s obvious disinterest. Different timings. Class full of other people. The beginnings of an idea have latched on in Hanyu’s mind. But most importantly, the fact that Koala-kid is wearing a Peaceminusone long-sleeve, tattoo on the inside of his wrist peeking out, and Hanyu has always liked the idea of trying to become more like someone he idolizes.

Even GD had to start from somewhere, right? Hanyu nods his head, beginning to walk off. Can’t have Chen Youwei catching on, now. “I’ll think about it. Good luck.”

Five steps away when he glimpses Chen Youwei's expression, he’s looking at Hanyu with soft surprise. Soft? Ugh, is this guy even capable of that? “What.”

“No, just thinking,” Chen Youwei says, and Hanyu is kind of annoyed that he can tell the delight reaches Chen Youwei’s bottomless, clear eyes. “That you always surprise me. How kind.”

Not knowing how to respond, Hanyu grunts, ears hot. Chunyang and Changxi better be ready for a good rant when he’s back.

-

“Well _I_ think it’s a good idea,” Changxi says, face mask drying. 

Chunyang nibbles on a snack from the top of the latest box his brother had sent over, and doesn’t add anything to the conversation. Hanyu harrumphs, sign for “I’ve heard your opinion”, and grabs one pack for himself. “You’re in the dance club, of course you think it’s a good idea.”

“No really, you should try it out,” Changxi insists. “It could be good for you, you repressed child. Dance is a way to express yourself. Didn’t you say you were having a creative block with your piano?”

“Mm,” Hanyu says. Repressed? Sounds more like Chen Youwei.

“Although Yueyue might drag you down the wrong path,” Changxi continues, moving on to lip care. He offers some moisturizing thingamajig to Hanyu, who rejects it on principle, despite Changxi’s best efforts to repair his “poor, cracked, unloved - _stop peeling!_ \- lips”.

“Guan Yue-ge makes Douyin videos,” Chunyang offers, as if this explains everything. To be fair, it kind of does. Hanyu hunkers down on his bunk, still weighing the pros and cons, popping crisps into his mouth. Pros: Possible outlet for emotions. Avoiding Chen Youwei. One step closer to being an idol. 

Cons? His teacher is already nagging him about recital, and what on earth does “The nuances! I can’t feel you beyond you barging in like an elephant” even mean? In other words, that’s more time taken out of practice that he sorely needs.

“Ah, I’m so annoyed!” He gives up, head thunking onto his pillow. This doesn’t deter Changxi from picking up his phone sweetly when it rings punctually, the daily ritual of “Hello? Huang Jiaxin~” fading as he steps out onto their attached balcony. 

Comfortable silence passes, interspersed by Changxi’s indistinguishable replies and intermittent, all-too-in-love laughter through the thin dorm walls. Hanyu is content to let it stay that way. Another thing he appreciates about his roommate, despite Chunyang’s unexpectedly gossipy nature. If only he could freeze this moment. Wrapped up in security, quiet breaths in and out, no attachments to the world or the other people in it.

“No harm trying,” Chunyang says. “Dance class.”

Hanyu closes his eyes. “Yeah.” He has to get up to brush his teeth, but he supposes that can wait.

-

While Hanyu is still undecided about dance class, Chen Youwei persists in showing up, a cup of cold coffee in hand always at just the moment that Hanyu needs it. He continues to appear when Hanyu least expects it, handing him a tissue when Hanyu is halfway through crying over his lunchtime episode. He stands at an angle that blocks the too-hot sun, which Hanyu finds out only after waking up from his nap. Once, Chen Youwei accidentally scares Hanyu by moving - from the dark shadow he was waiting in for Hanyu to finish practice. It’s embarrassing. So Hanyu runs.

They do a complicated engagement of pop-goes-the-weasel, more a movement born of running and hiding, on Hanyu’s side, and chasing - by Chen Youwei and Co. Not that they actually mean any harm to him, it seems. Not once has Chen Youwei overstepped any boundaries, always a respectful distance - the same, he reflects, as the first time he’d told the mysteriously patient mob boss to walk a little further away from him. Even when listening to Hanyu practise his (sadly limited) repertoire, it’s from a corner of the room, silently reading and signing stacks of documents that his bodyguards have left by his feet while they stand guard outside.

(“It’s like air,” Hanyu confides in Chunyang. “After a while, you don’t notice. Good-looking, nice-smelling air, though.”)

Still, it's infuriatingly mortifying that Chen Youwei always catches Hanyu in the end, forcing him to be accompanied along his way to the three points he shuttles between: Classes, practice rooms, dorms. Rinse and repeat.

Though what kind of personal bodyguards let their target roam free, in favour of some other kid who isn’t even paying them, anyway? Shouldn’t they be more, like, “get away from him” or “no touching”? Some boss he is. These bodyguards are disappointingly apathetic. Terrible reflection of the K-drama he’d just finished. The snaggy bit of the thumbnail Hanyu’s been worrying in his mouth snaps.

“You’re staring,” Chen Youwei stage-whispers. 

Hanyu jumps. “ _Shit,_ you scared me,” he scowls, clutching his stack of music scores to his chest. Chen Youwei laughs a little, the sound like bells in the forest. Now _that’s_ a first. He’s not averse to hearing it again. Except that Chen Youwei rarely ever does anything more than behave like a polite, disinterested robot around other people.

Besides teasing him. “You’re into the muscular type?” Chen says offhand, following his line of sight. “Hm, unexpected.”

It takes a while for Hanyu to understand, and then he colours. “Shut up,” he says cleverly. “That’s not - shut up.” 

“Perhaps I should bulk up?” Chen Youwei says, and really, genuinely, smiles, afternoon sun moving through the leaves and caught in his eyes. Whenever he comes out of class nowadays, Chen Youwei is usually surrounded by the skewed amount of girls in Hanyu’s course, but his voice then is always like it’s coming from far away, across snowy mountaintops. The Chen Youwei now is nothing like that. Like a drop of sunlight, melting a droplet of water on top of a glacier, turning slowly into a stream, river, force of nature. He’s right - Hanyu stares.

He barely tunes in as his teacher practically runs her mouth dry saying, “ _Crescendo,_ bar 41 is fortissimo - have you not been practising? Your phrasing, the feeling -” Which is around the time Hanyu decides yes, he needs a stress reliever, and no, Chen Youwei isn’t helping.

-

"Good job everyone, we'll start again in fifteen!" The magic words trigger Hanyu's boneless collapse onto the floor. He's never moving another millimeter again. Until fifteen minutes later, at least. 

“You alright?” Someone hands Hanyu a bottle of water, which he takes gratefully. “I know you from last year’s talent show - you pianists don’t strike me as particularly sporty.”

Hanyu gulps the water greedily. “Yes. And no,” he admits. “Actually, this is my second dance class.”

“That’s cool. What made you join?” Mingming asks, settling down beside him. “I thought, you know, musicians and their fingers - not that we purposely injure them, but still.”

Hanyu considers this reasonable question. He shrugs. “Good core posture.”

The unreasonable answer sparks a laugh out of the fellow student, unfairly not-out-of-breath beginner-class dance instructor. “Dance choreos can be pretty taxing on the core,” Mingming agrees, back resting against the front mirror. It fogs up almost immediately. Most people are done with replenishing water by now, and have moved on to scrolling through social media, chatting casually. Or in the case of the group near the door, whispering, “Hey, hasn’t that guy been there since the class started?”

“Yeah, I think so. Kinda weird, you think?”

Hanyu barely has the energy to let his gaze drift over. And of all things - 

“- What are you doing here,” he whispers harshly, closing the heavy door behind him. Then winces, right leg giving him hell for marching over so quickly. Chen Youwei gives a last interested glance - liar - at the dance studio through the glass pane before he turns to Hanyu, smile blazing. “Why, I’m here to see you, of course.” Chen Youwei’s eyes curve upwards, fleeting amusement dancing in them. He doesn’t call Hanyu out on his blatant avoidance. 

“...Of course,” Hanyu says. He shouldn’t be surprised. It was only a matter of time before Chen Youwei, determined genius, tracked him down. At least for two days, he’s gotten a reprieve from Chen Youwei breathing down his neck, no matter how small. A reprieve from _thinking_ about Chen Youwei breathing down his neck. And hating himself for thinking about it.

Why does he always have to throw straight fastballs, though? Even as indifferent teasing, it’s too much. Hanyu holds his head in his hand, pained.

What he doesn’t expect is for Chen Youwei to grab his arm. “Are you okay? Didn’t push yourself too hard, did you?” The concern soaking through Chen Youwei’s voice and into the firm, yet never too tight hold, throws Hanyu for a loop. “Wha-?”

“If you’re hurt -”

“The fifteen minute break is up," someone says from beside him. Hanyu turns his head to see that it's Mingming. Held open, the door lets out the sounds of people warming up, mundane chatter washing over their little bubble of strange tension, waves pushing it to a quiet pop. Mingming drops his stare to Chen Youwei’s hand, unimpressed.

“Got it,” Hanyu says hurriedly. The warmth disappears from his arm, and he realises belatedly that Chen Youwei had his other hand on his elbow, supporting Hanyu’s tired left.

An unexpectedly meticulous side to him. Hanyu looks up at Chen Youwei, tall figure blocking out some of the overhead corridor lights, seeing worry dissolve away into an ocean of nothingness again. “I’m fine. I have to go,” he says awkwardly. 

“Right,” Chen Youwei says lightly, and moves out of Hanyu’s personal space. He’s back to being politely _correct_ again, the right amount of distance, the right amount of casual in his face. As if nothing had happened. Hanyu is unnerved to find that it ignites some kind of burning in his gut, something too close to irritation. 

He shakes the thought off physically, turning to go - when had Mingming gone back? He hadn’t noticed. Somewhat resigned, “I’ll see you after -”

“Phone number.” Chen Youwei interrupts. Confused, Hanyu turns back, hand on the door handle. Chen Youwei’s face is impassive, but his voice sounds unsure, tentative. “If I have your number, I won’t have to get in your way.”

“Self-aware,” Hanyu mutters, but he’s digging out his phone from his pocket. “I’ll scan - never mind, you scan mine.” He’d rather have the final say in accepting Chen Youwei’s friend request, even if he has to do it in the end anyway. His response must appease Chen Youwei somewhat, because his face relaxes. “Alright. Done.”

Hanyu’s phone pings dutifully. Under the careful watch of Chen Youwei, he looks down to accept his request. “Happy?” He asks, glancing to check on the class - have they started without him?

“Yes.” Chen Youwei says, hands in his expensive pants pockets. Hanyu has the sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t mean, “yes this is good enough you can go now”, but something else entirely. But that overthinking session is for another time. He takes the out he's been given, waving a civil-ish goodbye without looking, and pushes through the studio door.

“You okay?” Mingming asks quietly when Hanyu takes his place. That’s the third time someone’s asking him that today. “That guy, did he hurt you?”

It takes Hanyu a few moments to realize what Mingming is talking about. “Who, Chen Youwei? Nah, he -” _would never hurt me,_ is what Hanyu is about to say, and stops himself in time. Where did that come from? “...just wanted to exchange numbers. Thanks, though.” 

“No problem,” Mingming claps him on the shoulder, dubious, but getting over it. “Well, if there’s anything, don’t be a stranger, okay?” Hanyu dredges up a smile. 

Break over, their little encounter washes away like a clean slate of sand after the tide. Mingming moves on to teaching the next few eight-beats, tempo quick and subtle. When Hanyu glances at the door again, the familiar figure in formal wear is nowhere to be seen. 

-

In fact, he’s nowhere to be seen from then on. Hanyu can’t believe his luck at first, gets slowly used to not catching sight of long-sleeved shirts from the corner of his eye. Greets Chunyang with a bro fist when they walk back to the dorms together instead. Can’t shake off the persistent feeling of something missing, even if his piano teacher is pleased with his dissatisfied frustration unleashing on that bar 41 fortissimo.

He refuses to admit that it’s strange. Stranger still to feel that lack of Chen Youwei like a physical pull, distracting him from what Chunyang is saying about thugs in the nearby district, but don’t worry, the Tigers are on it. Hanyu says, “‘Kay.” He has no idea what that sentence even means.

In the beginning, the full-body soreness after every dance class makes him think about muscles he never knew he had, in places he never thought about, grimacing when he habitually lifts his arms by the elbows to bang down the C minor chord. After a while he gets used to the ache. Then he starts finding that he’s got better stamina, new flexibility to reach keys, and the tendency for pushing three-hour practice sessions where he purges all memory of an increasingly fading side profile.

Gone, just like that. Like when he disappeared into the night, but at least that time he’d left behind a promise. All it took was his contact in his phone? Psh.

 _Good riddance,_ Hanyu thinks vindictively, and squashes down the part that feels just a little bit disappointed.

-

Normally, beginners classes don’t take part in recitals. Probably. It’s a special case, or something. Regardless, the practice sessions have kicked up more than a notch, and Hanyu finds that between dance, piano, and coursework, he doesn’t have the time to think too much about anything. 

“Better,” the piano teacher says in the afternoon, after Hanyu manages to pull off a piece without mistake and with some ingenious fingering. “Now once more, with feeling in the right places.”

“I can’t feel the power in your moves!” The dance leader says in the evening, clapping to get their attention. What’s with everyone and _feeling?_ Hanyu scrunches up a frown. He’s got plenty of feeling. It’s just not reaching them. “Okay, let’s try something. I know, it’s the middle of semester, everything’s piling up - I get it. Here’s what you do: Imagine all your stress compressed tight into a ball.” Almost instantly, it appears. A hardened, angry, burning ball of lava, smouldering in his gut. On the cusp of erupting, but not quite, not yet, holding a tight rein on the veiny cracked surface, waiting.

“Or put the face of someone you’re having a hard time with onto the ball, that works too. Now here’s the important part - put all your strength into smashing that ball into outer space! Come on, let’s go.”

Hanyu imagines Chen Youwei’s distantly smiling face, there-but-not-really; cold frothy sea foam _I’ll be in touch,_ when he was obviously by nature humid smothering hot spring _Are you okay?_

He ends up kicking so powerfully that the people beside him swear the floorboard broke.

-

“Sleeping,” Chunyang says, very quietly.

Hanyu’s eyes twitch under his eyelids. Who? _He_ had been sleeping, but somehow his dream is already slipping away, and Chunyang’s rare phone call in the dead of the night seems exponentially more interesting by the second. Changxi, too, is fast asleep, lightly snoring.

“No,” Chunyang continues, sliding carefully down his bunk bed’s ladder, judging by the creaking noises. Hanyu can only make out a male voice on the other end. Breathe in, out. I’m asleep. “No. I haven’t seen anyone suspicious.”

His feet touch the floor with a light patter. “No, they shouldn’t be able to find out who he is. How many times have I said this?” Wow, exasperation’s not a cute look on you, Hu Chunyang. Or, well, cute sound. “And you have his number now, why can’t you ask him yourself?”

Quiet. Hanyu holds his breath. Then the man on the other end of the line says something that makes Chunyang stifle a laugh. “How the great have fallen. Though I suppose he wouldn’t have noticed anything dangerous anyway, from hearing how you two met.”

What? Sounds like a clueless idiot. The other guy must think so too, short laughter that makes Hanyu’s chest curiously tingle with dull warmth. Their conversation - or what Hanyu can hear of it - slows, Chunyang alternating between monosyllabic answers and affirmative hums.

“That’s all,” Chunyang says, right when Hanyu is beginning to drift off again, darkness softly creeping over him. “Say hi to Wenhan-ge for me. Ah, one last thing - the dance club, they’ve picked a few dates for the recital…”

Murmuring waves, Hanyu grasps and can’t hold on to, shush and pull. He sleeps.

-

He recalls faintly _Don’t use this path again._ Hanyu looks at the short-cut he’s taken only once. It’s not very well lit, unlike his usual route, which unfortunately happens to be under maintenance. One lone lamp light flickers above him, urging him on.

He doesn’t feel like listening to that reasonable, tempered voice, anyway. Hanyu takes the step forward.

On his phone, Chunyang is in the process of typing. About staying back to record something or the other, he expects. _Make sure your group mate gets you back safe. I’m going back first,_ he types, then plugs in his earphones and vigorously ups the volume on _Yeah, alright, 1, 2 -_ before locking his phone. He’s not scared. Just blocking out the noise of passersby. And things that move in the bushes.

The dorms aren’t that far away, but it’s still a good walk. There’s no one around, the street deserted. Hanyu sings along under his breath. 

He doesn’t notice when they come in. Softly at first, then louder, footsteps. _Super rookie rookie boy ha!_ Hanyu walks a little faster. The footsteps speed up. _I’m pretending to enjoy this, haha I’m trying to laugh._ He walks under the lit areas on purpose, stomping a bit louder, but the footsteps following him don't let up. Run? Don't run? Don't let the footsteps know he knows they're there? It's probably just some poor soul on their way home, just like him. It's probably nothing and he's just scaring himself. Shit, where’s the end of this alleyway? That doesn’t sound like one person.

The corner appears in sight. Hanyu breathes a quiet sigh of relief. _But even the way I talk turns into ice when I’m in front of you -_

“Oi,” someone says, loud enough to hear over the music. “Hold up.”

Hanyu freezes.

He’s okay with music theory, pounds in the effort to do well enough at playing pieces. But aural is tricky to train. It’s still fun sometimes, hearing motifs, recognizing key signatures, going on gut feeling for “what period is this piece from?”

So he knows that voice. It once said, “Stick close to your nanny. We’ll be back.”

He turns slowly, fighting the urge to screw his eyes shut. One side of his earphones falls out, unable to hang on for longer. Of course. He should have taken a self-defence class. _I even memorized your number at one try, why?_ He should have kept Chen Youwei on speed dial. Please, at least not the hands. He clutches his bag by the strap tightly, ready to swing it. The thug -

\- falls over, missing Hanyu’s face by a hair. “Wha-?”

“Over here, smartass.” A voice wafts over ever so lightly, but Hanyu’s mind on overdrive hears the taut tension in the last word. Then there is a well-heeled foot kicking the thug away, attached to a person who swiftly defends against the other thug, who has changed his attacking target against this new threat.

 _Rookie rookie, my super rookie rookie rookie!_ Chen Youwei, all gangly whirlpool limbs and stormy expression, kicks, _pushes,_ and the thugs fall away, coughing. Hanyu is almost sure that this is a hallucination. “Here!” Chen Youwei shouts ( _shouts_ ), and the familiar tidal wave of black-clad men fills in, taking over.

“Hanyu,” Chen Youwei turns his attention to him, checking him over. He even lifts Hanyu’s free hand up to the nearest light to see. “Xia Hanyu. You alright? Hey, respond.” _My handsome rookie rookie._ Voice of warm gold, glittering endlessly on the surface of a turbulent sea. Hanyu blinks up at him, twice. 

“Yeah,” he says, and means it. “That…” Chen Youwei tenses. “Was cool. But how? ...Is that why?”

Chen Youwei gives his hand back. “It’s a long story. It’s not - you’re not - never mind. Yes.”

 _Never mind_ enrages Hanyu a little. Music player shut off, narrowing his eyes, Hanyu says, “I’ve got time. Curfew’s in half an hour.” And for once, Chen Youwei looks flustered, as if he doesn’t know what’s the right thing to say, what will pacify Hanyu. 

It is at this opportune moment that Chunyang runs in, older brother in tow. “Hanyu!” he half-shouts, because Chunyang is younger than him but has never addressed him with any honorifics. Bit late in their relationship to consider this, but Hanyu's in hyper-aware mode at the moment. The whole street probably knows my name by now, some part of Hanyu thinks. “You’re okay - thank goodness I got through to Youwei.”

Unlike the two who rushed over - which by itself was beginning to ring some alarming bells in Hanyu’s head; how did Chunyang know to call Chen Youwei? Chunyang actively contacts Chen Youwei outside of their little chaperoned walks? - Chunyang’s brother saunters in, one hand patting guys on the shoulder for their work shuttling the two thugs out, the other hand in his expensive-looking chinos. 

“So you’re Hanyu,” brother says. He has a melodious, fluffy voice, like smooth woolly blankets. “Thanks for taking care of Yangyang, Lao Xia.”

“It’s Xiao Xia,” Hanyu replies on automatic. Chunyang tugs his brother back, embarrassed. 

Brother ruffles Chunyang’s hair and gestures towards the general direction of the dorms with a half-questioning tilt of his head, and somehow, everyone starts moving. Slow enough to talk leisurely, fast enough to leave the scene before interested parties show up. “Amazing how you and Youwei get along,” Brother continues, not impeded in the slightest. “I couldn't follow that conversation at all. For one man to control both the most precious and the most powerful individuals in the Tiger gang - you sure we can’t just induct him?” This last part said to Chen Youwei, who had sometime earlier positioned himself in between Hanyu and Brother, walking quietly.

Chen Youwei shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “A pity,” Brother sighs, ignoring Chunyang saying semi-desperately, _Wenhan-ge._ Hanyu is beginning to put two and two together to make five. “Well. Whatever makes you happy.

“Youwei’s really the one running this ship, you see,” Wenhan confesses to Hanyu, eyes glinting like a hawk’s when they emerge out of the alley into a row of bright lights. “Me? I hate paperwork.” 

They slow to a stop one block’s distance from the dorm. “Well, I have to get going,” Wenhan says, an inconspicuous dark grey car already pulling noiselessly into the space behind them. Chunyang gets in first reluctantly upon Wenhan's gentle shooing pat, looking anxiously between Hanyu and Wenhan. He only settles when Hanyu gives him a hopefully reassuring nod. “Good talk. You’re a good listener, Lao Xia; listen a little more, won’t you?” He smiles, simultaneously as harmless as a lamb and as suffocating as being swallowed whole by a wild lion, and then he’s gone.

“I see where you get it from,” Hanyu says eventually.

Chen Youwei snorts. “I’m glad you’re calm enough to make fun of me.” The night is restless with furtive wind, blowing Hanyu’s words gently away, much like that day just a few short months back. “Hey,” Chen Youwei says, the same thought clearly on his mind. “Not even a word of thanks?”

It occurs very late to Hanyu that he’s never really called Chen Youwei by name before. There wasn’t any need to; he was always there. “Thanks,” he hesitates, “Youwei. So this ‘follower’ thing - your idea of a joke?” 

“No. Yes. Well,” Youwei says, finally puts into words. “I thought they might be back. I thought at first it might be fun. I thought… I didn’t think you’d be, well, you.” Hanyu frowns. “Stubborn, silly, oblivious, naive, straightforward…” Youwei shrugs. “You.”

Youwei-speak is complicated, Hanyu knows. It’s much easier to discern, without even thinking about it, the softness of the waves when he talks; the candid awkwardness in his stumbling words; how Youwei is trying to fill a glass with water, but he’s got a whole ocean to pour.

He’s got plenty of feeling, but it’s just not reaching. Perhaps they’re more alike than he thought after all. “Okay,” Hanyu says simply. “So you got my roommate to spy on me.”

“Sort of,” Youwei replies. 

“Although you have my number.”

“Yes.”

“Which you didn’t do anything with.”

“...No.”

Youwei seems determined to explain as little as possible. “And I thought I was bad,” Hanyu says. Youwei grins wryly. “Those who stay near vermillion get stained red*,” he quips, though he makes _vermillion_ sound more like _pig._

Hanyu cracks, hot lava rushing to meet the surface, bubbling up with a passion. Despite having come here after an exhausting practice session, he feels like he could keep playing for hours before it cools. “That’s more like it,” he says. He’s burning, words coming out faster than he can think. Why is he angry? “You’re not cool. You think you’re hot shit? Doing whatever you want without asking. Keeping people away? Not telling them anything? Sorry, Mr Perfect, we mortals can’t understand. I - ugh,” he chokes on the words, pent-up for so long that they’re all in a rush to come out at the same time. Frustrated, Hanyu turns to kick the trash can beside him, except he only gets a leg swung back before Youwei forcefully rotates him around. 

“You’ll need that for the foot pedals,” he says.

Damn him, why is he still thinking on Hanyu’s behalf? “Shut up,” Hanyu says, his go-to insult. Youwei stares back, lightning sparks in his eyes, but still firmly holding him by the shoulders. “You can’t get involved,” he says, voice unsteady. “I already got you caught up, when - you’ve got music. Dance. A life.”

“Not much really,” Hanyu retorts. “You’ve seen it.”

Youwei sighs, exasperated, rational, lost. Human. Suddenly Hanyu sees him, and sees the piece he’s been plonking at for so long. Instinctively, he realises, he needs him in his life after all.

“Chen Youwei,” he says calmly. “I saved you, you saved me. We don’t owe each other anything any more.”

“No,” Youwei’s voice is subdued. Low tide.

“Right,” Hanyu says, and breaks out of Youwei’s hold. He rummages through his bag to find one out of the ten tickets he was told to sell, and pushes it into Youwei’s hand. “Members of the public pay 75. WeChat red packet’s fine.”

It must not be anything within what Youwei is expecting. “Dance recital,” Youwei reads slowly. “But you said we don’t -”

“I’m only in one performance,” Hanyu interrupts. “Take it or leave it.”

It’s like watching a sunrise slowly come up over the horizon. “Okay,” Youwei says. “Okay.”

-

Backstage, he’s nervous. Hanyu clenches his fist, unclenches it.

Mingming swats him on his butt and he yelps. “Relax,” the experienced dancer says, eyeshadow glittering. Hanyu, years of experience on stage now worthless without an instrument standing in between him and the audience, says, “I _am_ relaxed.” His leg won’t stop jiggling.

“It’s not that bad,” Mingming says, letting a stage crew pass hurriedly by. “You’ve practised, we’ve rehearsed, you know the moves.” Hopefully, Hanyu thinks, suddenly blanking out. Oh god what if he blanks out. “You just get out there and let the music do the work.”

That part sounds doable.

“It’s only one song,” Mingming laughs. “Don’t you memorize, what, 9-minute long pieces?” He mimes playing the piano, fingers wiggling. Hanyu mutters, “Not _that_ long,” but there’s no real bite to it; he’s grateful. Mingming shrugs good-naturedly and slaps him on the back before leaving, job done. “If it helps - go take a peek at the audience, I think your dorm mate brought his whole family along.”

Which dorm mate? If it’s Chunyang, that might actually be dangerous. They’ve kind of made up - Hanyu was fighting more with himself and Youwei than Chunyang, who always had his best interests at heart, anyway. But sometimes strange things go on in that fairytale head of his, and Chunyang might think that attendance in full force is the best way to support a good friend. What if he brought his brother. What if his brother brought his musclehead mooks. What if his brother starts a fight over someone accidentally pushing Chunyang? Shit, now he doesn’t even have the time to get stressed over _dancing_ anymore, if war is going to break out. Hanyu loses the battle inside his mind and sneaks off while everyone else is caught in the chaos of hair curlers, _where’s the bronzer?_ and buzzing energy.

He sees them when he’s managed to very casually look out from stage right.

Hanyu doesn’t know them all by name, but he definitely knows the people sitting in that clump of audience seats by body shape. And he knows the two people sitting in the centre of that muscle fortress, chatting carefree. 

Chunyang covers his mouth to laugh as Youwei reads something from the program list, lips curving. They have somehow got banners with his face on them in their hands. _They_ includes what must be all the bodyguards Hanyu has ever met on rotating shift with Youwei. Coupled with pink lightsticks, the whole thing seems almost ridiculously surreal. _Pink._ He’d only mentioned offhand once that he used to like the colour so much that he had pink bed sheets. Who -?

Suddenly Youwei looks up sharply, and out of nowhere his eyes catch Hanyu’s - a sea of people between them, glittering lights like an ocean of stars, thick curtains separating him from view, and yet.

“What are you doing here?” One of the stage managers hisses at him, hand covering her headset’s mic. “We’re starting soon, go back in.”

Hanyu apologizes, stumbles to the waiting room. His heart is galloping, thundering far away, something buried in his chest that is struggling to get free.

He came. His chat history with Youwei is still meagre, having started less than a week ago, and mostly made up of Hanyu saying _Reached class_ or _I’m back_ to Youwei’s _Good,_ and if he’s not busy, a long time spent typing before Youwei sends _Good night._ Youwei never confirmed if he was coming to the dance recital. Hanyu never asked.

So this is what it feels like, Hanyu thinks. 

“Why are you smiling?” Changxi says suspiciously, hands busy adjusting his hairstyle in the mirror for his performance. “Is my hair funny?”

“Nothing,” Hanyu says. “Just… happy.”

-

When it’s his turn on stage, Hanyu forgets, remembers, lives again. I want to play Chopin, he thinks midway through an arm extend. It’s different, but the same; for a moment it feels like he’s grasped something essential, Youwei’s laser-focus eyes whizzing by, and then the moment is gone. Feel, he thinks, and begins to understand.

-

It’s the 78th time Chen Youwei is walking him home, but it feels like the first. There’s something in the air that Hanyu can’t put a finger on. For the first time, Hanyu can feel the lightness in Youwei’s step, contrasting with the tension in his careful arm-swings; Youwei’s gaze determinedly forward but constantly casting side-long glances at him, when previously he would have just stared outright. Well. Hanyu only knows because he’s doing the same.

More importantly, though, there’s something he needs to correct.

“Chen Youwei,” Hanyu says, shifting the bouquet to his other arm. “What are you doing? Walk closer.”

Somehow, their hands find each other.

  
  


END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The full idiom is 近朱者赤，近墨者黑 - “He who stays near vermillion gets stained red, and he who stays near ink gets stained black” (translation courtesy of a great answer on [Quora](https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-poetic-translation-of-the-Chinese-phrase-%E8%BF%91%E6%9C%B1%E8%80%85%E8%B5%A4%EF%BC%8C%E8%BF%91%E5%A2%A8%E8%80%85%E9%BB%91-in-English)) - meaning one’s character/behaviour is changed by the company one keeps.  
> The 2nd character 朱 zhu1 (vermillion) is pronounced the same as pig (猪 zhu1). :)
> 
> Rookie (by Red Velvet, which is arguably Xia Hanyu’s favourite girl group since he constantly has Irene as his lock screen) lyrics translation thanks to [Pop!Gasa](https://popgasa.com/2017/01/31/red-velvet-rookie).
> 
> [Here](https://youtu.be/IBDf1VhCUHA) is a nice compilation of videos of Xia Hanyu playing the piano, including the Revolutionary Etude mentioned. 
> 
> **To the person who gave this prompt,**  
>  Thank you for putting it as “Any season, any pairing”! I’m sorry if this isn’t what you were expecting but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. (Hanyu taking up dance classes means he’s technically a dance student… right?) I was very tickled by the idea of someone who everyone thinks is an intimidating mob boss but actually gets scared of his own shadow (Hanyu) saving someone who everyone thinks is a gallant knight in shining armour but is actually an accomplished mob boss (Youwei).  
> There’s so much I want to say, but I think most important is that I hope you enjoy reading!
> 
>  **To everyone reading (Important Points):**  
>  The next few chapters are entirely skippable - the main, actual fic is over - but I include them for maximum fic enjoyment (?).  
> Chapter 2 is just a little sexy-times (well hopefully sexy) extra that has no bearing on the plot and takes place after it.  
> Chapter 3 is a collection of some thoughts, extra information, and small parts that didn’t make the cut into the fic, but I’m still fond of them.
> 
> And of course, comments welcome! :)


	2. Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bvg232HOn8), Chopin**

“Our first meeting,” Hanyu says. “It was very,” he licks his lips, “Chopin.”

“Oh?” Youwei says, nosing at Hanyu’s neck despite his efforts to nudge him off. “I do think his waltzes are wonderful.”

“I meant his Revolutionary Etude,” Hanyu glares. The effect of it is probably not what he’d like it to be, though, given his unfortunate flush. And Youwei’s hand moving agonizingly slowly down the front of his unbuttoned dress pants. They'd tumbled into this practice room almost straight after his piano performance, Hanyu in matching stuffy formal wear for once, and he wants it  _ off. _ “Hurry it up,” he says impatiently, yanking out Youwei’s black bowtie. It’s unfair that this guy is always impeccably dressed, even when supposedly giving Hanyu his reward for a job well done.

“I see,” Youwei murmurs, the velvety sound sending shivers through Hanyu. He bucks upward, craving touch, whining when Youwei’s large hand only pins his hip down instead, possessive of control. “Don’t rush,” Youwei says. “You’re always rushing. Bad habit.” Hanyu is slowly being consumed by fire, licking its way up from his belly; he can’t hear what Youwei is saying, only the slow, methodical way he’s peeling off Hanyu’s layers, voice liquid gold.

His fingers are itching to move, to touch, either himself or Youwei, anything’s fine, but Youwei had said, “They’ve worked hard today, let them rest.” And that was that. Pulling that bowtie had earned him a warning squeeze, an almost indistinct rumble from Youwei’s throat. Obediently, he uses them to prop himself up on the smooth, glossy finish of the piano lid, flattened wide so he doesn’t lose purchase.

“Cold,” he says when Youwei has pulled down Hanyu’s pants and underwear. His naked skin squeaks against the lid’s surface when he shifts, cool to his too-hot touch. “Youwei, that’s - the, the piano will spoil -”

He can see Youwei through his own tailored dress pants. “I did hear pianos shouldn't get wet,” Youwei says, as if unconcerned. Hanyu glares at him, the beginnings of tears about to blur his vision as he squirms, wanting friction and finding none. The hand near his dick only feathers over his tip lightly. Hanyu bites his lip in frustration.

Youwei gives in. He seats himself on the piano bench with a flourish. “Come here,” he says, allowing Hanyu to unstick himself from the piano and sink slowly onto the small space left. He cradles Hanyu like holding a precious gem, languid kisses washing his skin. “Any more complaints?”

“Naggy _ , _ ” Hanyu manages to huff out, back arching when Youwei finally, finally touches him. “And too much clothes.”

“Be patient,” Youwei says into Hanyu’s waist. Steady, anchored. Not perfect, but holding on. "We're getting there."

Hanyu closes his eyes, breathes with him. “Yeah.”

...He’s not setting foot in this practice room again for a while though.


	3. Extras (read all about it)

####  **Things I hope you noticed/realised (I have failed if you didn’t… Sorry)**

  * Xia Hanyu the volcano, meeting Chen Youwei the sea
  * As a musician, Hanyu is sensitive to and often focusing on the way Youwei _sounds_ more than what he’s actually saying 
    *       * Very impressionist lol despite the Chopin refs (stares into the sunset)
      * He’s probably only observant about sound feels and not anything else, leading to the messy situation
  * Hanyu’s playing is alright but his teacher keeps asking him to put more FEELING and through a series of ~~unfortunate events~~ incidents, it’s his meeting with Youwei that changes him and allows him to be in tune with his emotions
  * Youwei began as Hanyu’s “follower” mainly because he 1) wanted to track down the rival thugs who cornered him while he was vulnerable, 2) was worried they might track Hanyu down and hurt him, 3) thought it would be entertaining (as Hanyu thought). He didn’t expect to get emotionally invested.
  * Hanyu didn’t expect the gang thing to be _real._
  * Chunyang has been texting/calling Youwei ever since Hanyu told him about the meeting
  * Hanyu thought he was chaperoning Chunyang on their walks back to the dorms but really, it’s been the other way around
  * The “bodyguards” are actually Youwei’s underlings, but also bodyguards because hey, he’s their boss. They seemed like negligent bodyguards to Hanyu because their primary protection target had been changed to him instead.
  * Youwei keeps people at a distance due to his background, but actually he’s a nice sunshine person. But he keeps them _happy_ while at a distance, so they can’t find fault with him
  * Meanwhile Hanyu keeps people at a distance just because it’s too much trouble to get involved, but he’s actually a nice… cloudy… person. 
  * The Rookie lyrics go both ways (Hanyu to Youwei, and vice versa)
  * “Stubborn, silly, oblivious, naive” = “Persevering, funny, unsuspecting, pure”
  * Hanyu got angry at Youwei for (in his eyes) not bothering to keep in contact, but he himself… didn’t text Youwei either… I never said he’s perfect
  * They are Bad At Communication. So bad.
  * We come full circle at the end, except they've changed, so I guess it's a spiral? 



####  **Extra information that has no relevance to the pl** **ot**

  * Setting very loosely based on universities in China
  * Chunyang is a broadcasting major
  * Like half of UNINE are in the dance club: Zhenning, Mingming, Guan Yue, Jia Yi, Changxi
  * Wenhan is the official heir to Tiger gang, Youwei is its shadow heir/right-hand man. Wenhan’s strengths lie in delegation and charisma; Youwei is the get-shit-done man
  * Chunyang is in university because he wants to and the whole gang dotes on him. He doesn’t actually need the degree. (I’m now wondering what a gang would do with a broadcaster)
  * When Mingming said “your dorm mate brought his whole family” he meant Changxi. His mum, sister, cousins, etc. They’re both in the dance club so he’s met Changxi’s family before
  * The bodyguard in the summary snippet is 四叔 (Si Shu - literally, Fourth Uncle). (So it isn't really a lie?) The bodyguards rotate for every day of the week. 



####  **Tiny snippets that didn’t make the cut**

“I see, I see,” Guan Yue says sagely. “So it was a coinciDANCE of avoiDANCE.”

Hanyu is ashamed to say that the reply is automatic. “Wow, you can really dance.”

-

They’re finally talking, but the conversation between him and Chen Youwei mostly consists of the latter nagging him daily about eating his meals on time. He’s already shielded Chen Youwei from seeing his midnight supper posts, so how is he still texting him “don’t eat too much fried food, bad for health”? 

_I’ll send the fried chicken to your information network next time*,_ Hanyu replies, and tosses the phone into his bag.

_*When someone [personally unknown, but in a particular role] does a good job, people say they should get an extra chicken thigh (加鸡腿), representing a reward, to their figurative (cheap/meagre) boxed lunch, which represents their due for a normal job._

-

This time, Youwei shows up by himself. Or at least, that’s the millisecond impression Hanyu gets, eyes flickering over the front row of the hushed audience, before he exhales briefly - and bows, curtly polite.

Chunyang smiles at him when Hanyu takes his seat in front of the piano, to which Hanyu spares a withering glare. _I’ll kill you, shut up and turn the pages._ The threat is useless on Chunyang, whose attempts to squash down his smile only result in a worse one trembling on the corners of his mouth. Oh for goodness’ sake, Hanyu is going to be wrongly accused of bullying again.

Hah, as if he’s not the one being bullied by Youwei.

-

Hanyu finds out by accident.

He’s scrolling through what he’s missed of his friends feed, past Youwei waxing lyrical on some photos of a sunrise - they’re not even _nice_ photos, typical. He leaves a like anyway. Chunyang, posting about his daily life: Sunlight through the trees; lamenting the passage of time, messy sample scripts spread out on his desk; a candid shot of Hanyu himself lazing about with a guitar, eyes closed in concentration. Sneaky kid didn’t even tag him. He saves the shot and backs out, about to leave a like, when he notices the likes list.

‘Youwei and 10 others like this’, it says.

“Hu Chunyang,” Hanyu grits out into the voice message, “You better get back ASAP.” Hits ‘send’.


End file.
